Pressed Palms
by blustripe
Summary: Cally feels guilty. She hurt the last person she ever wanted to. But now things are starting to change between them, and the one thing she's always wanted is what scares her the most. A CallyTyrol fic.
1. Prologue

**Pressed Palms** by Rosie

Summary: Cally feels guilty. She hurt the last person she ever wanted to. But now things are starting to change between them, and the one thing she's always wanted is what scares her the most. A Cally/Tyrol fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Battlestar Galactica (duh), and these characters are not mine. But I do own these words. Please don't copy in whole or in part w/o my permission.

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Prologue

She'd never admit it, but Cally sometimes felt guilty for killing, no, "shooting" Sharon. Just a little. And not because she felt like a murderer (after all, you cant kill a Cylon), or because she had spent a month in the brig (it was kind of nice actually). It was the look on his face. The look on his face as he held her and tried to comfort her and pressed his hand to her stomach to stop the bleeding. The look of agony as the Cylon's head had fallen limp and its eyes faded. Cally had shot the Commander's would-be assassin and most considered her a hero for it. But not him. Cally's only regret was that she had caused him pain.

She only joined the military to pay for dental school. It really was a "last resort" decision. Her family could no longer support her and despite already having two jobs at the age of eighteen, she couldn't manage to pay for college. She really was a pacifist at heart. The thought of holding and shooting a gun absolutely disgusted her. The only people she knew with guns were the ones that would hit you and rape you and steal your car. That's why she went into mechanics. Rather be covered in oil than blood. Metaphorically of course, but Cally didn't want to put herself in the position where she might one day have to make the decision to take life. Either way, she wasnt looking foward to becoming a part of the military machine.

Then she met _him_, and suddenly a career in the military didn't seem so bad. He had insisted she call him Galen. Guess some people just don't like formalities. But she never felt comfortable hearing that name roll off her tongue. Cally felt like she didn't deserve to say it. Standing in his warm presence and hearing him laugh, she wanted to say it, "Galen". But she was oddly scared. She was afraid to speak his name as though she would be scolded for insubordination, even though he had insisted upon it. Instead she took to calling him "Chief".He had once expressed to her his confusion over the pilots' callsigns. He was never quite sure how to address them. He laughed at the fact that he now had one of his own. It made her insides glow. What a wonderful feeling it was, to make the Chief laugh. _Her_ Chief.

But he was frakking a pilot, a lieutenant, a gorgeous, exotic woman. Cally could hardly compete with that. It really was just a fantasy. After all, she couldn't even say his name. Cally had no choice but to be content with their lighthearted, platonic relationship. She was okay with that though. Not like she was madly in love with him or anything. Just mildly infatuated. And as much as she wanted to hate Sharon, somehow she couldn't. The lieutenant had always been so kind to her, unlike the vast majority of pilots. She never once raised her voice. In fact, the only time Cally could remember hearing Boomer shout was at the Chief moments before they had a good frak in the back of some storage room. The pilot made him happy. Cally could live with that.

But then they ended the relationship and Sharon shot herself. Then she shot the Commander. Then Cally shot her. She justified that it wasn't really "killing". You can't kill a machine. But the pain in the Chief's eyes made it real. Cally threw up in the brig that night thinking not of the blood dripping on the floor or the lifeless body staring blankly at the ceiling, but of the look of absolute horror on his face. Cally had put it there. She had no regrets about killing the Cylon traitor, only that she had caused such a violent pain inside of the last person she ever wanted to hurt. The Chief wasn't the same after that. He seemed hollow. He wouldn't look at her anymore. It was agony for her, but Cally knew she deserved it.

After Kobol, the Chief started talking to her again. His laughter was dry and forced, but at least he was laughing again. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him she was sorry. She had once told him that she wasn't. "I'm not sorry I shot her," she had said. Cally wanted to apologize for everything else. "Galen," she would say, "please forgive me."

Now Cally stood with her hands pressed to the cold metal of a Vyper wing, staring down at him as he messed about with some cables. He squinted his eyes in concentration then stuck his arm out asking for a wrench. She handed it to him as she mouthed the words "I'm sorry," even though she knew he couldn't see her.

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A/N: Well, first BSG fanfic. You like it so far? Please R&R. I'd love to hear your comments. 


	2. Soaked

**Pressed Palms **by Rosie

Summary: Cally feels guilty. She hurt the last person she ever wanted to. But now things are starting to change between them, and the one thing she's always wanted is what scares her the most. A Cally/Tyrol fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Battlestar Galactica (duh), and these characters are not mine. But I do own these words. Please don't copy in whole or in part w/o my permission.

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Soaked

She felt like a pumpkin. A fat, fluorescent, pumpkin. Cally was absolutely horrified the first time she slipped into the orange jumpsuit and had a good twirl in the mirror. It was like wearing a garbage bag. But soon after she started working on the flight deck, Cally began to appreciate the thick, orange material. It protected her from oil sprays and rough metal and held her tools for her. At first she felt painfully self-conscious walking around in it, but after seeing all the other techs wearing the same thing, she became a bit more comfortable.

Now it felt like home. Cally always experienced a sense of comfort when slipping into her suit each morning. She could hide in it. The baggy sleeves made her feel small and protected. The Chief had stapled her suit back together when a seam busted and now it chafed a little, but as long as she sat right, it didn't bother her too much.

Cally sat on the stairs rolled up beside a Viper fiddling with a few odds and ends. The staples were starting to itch her left thigh a little and she squirmed and wriggled until she was in a more comfortable position.

"What's the matter, Cally? Rash?"

She lifted her gaze from her lap and glared at him.

"No, _staples_," she said with an acidic tone. "Your handiwork I believe, Chief."

He grinned, lips closed and eyes crinkled. "Well would you rather have a gaping hole in the ass of your pants?" He waved his wrench at her and tried to look serious.

"No. But you could have used duct tape."

"Hmm..." The Chief placed his hands on his hips. "That might be a good idea, Specialist," he said flatly. "Now get back to work."

The Chief turned his back to her and headed over to a flustered pilot trying to get his attention. Cally smiled and returned her focus to the work in her lap. Maybe she could poke a hole in the Chief's jumpsuit for a bit of revenge.

No. That would be going a bit far.

She might have done it a year ago when repair materials weren't in such short supply. Socinus would have had a good laugh about that. Cally always half expected that Socinus had a thing for her. But of course, that didn't really matter now.

Somehow it felt like the flight deck was getting bigger. Or maybe it was just because the crew was getting smaller. First Prosna, then Socinus. Jammer was still there, but he was hardly any comfort. He used to be such a nice guy, always had a kind word to say. After the Cylon attack though, he started to lose it. Paranoid, irrational, and a general asshole. He'd accuse you of being a Cylon infiltrator at the drop of a nut.

Frakked up.

Of course, Cally couldn't really blame him. She _had_ shot someone. Even if it was a Cylon, Cally had done the one thing she could have never envisioned herself doing. She must have been pretty frakked up too.

Guilty. Murderer. Executioner.

They swam around in her head. But she had done the right thing. The Cylon traitor couldn't have been allowed to live. It was odd to think that another copy of Sharon now lived aboard the ship. How many executioners got to see their victims return from the dead?

And it was pregnant. Oh Gods, pregnant. How was that even possible? The Chief told her in confidence that he had nearly smashed in Helo's face when discussing the "baby". He loathed himself for it. Cally had gently patted his back and tried to comfort him, said she probably would have done the same thing. And she knew it was true.

Murderer.

"Frak!" She heard the Chief yell from across the deck. He stood dripping with oil, wrestling with a leaky fuel line spraying all over everyone in the immediate vicinity.

She would have laughed, and so would Socinus, but with supplies running so low, all this meant was wasted fuel and a mess to clean up.

With the fuel line back in place, the havoc calmed. A couple of dirty pilots colorfully expressed their anger. The Chief wiped the slick oil out of his eyes and waddled away to get himself cleaned up. Behind him lay a trail of dripping oil. He walked past Cally and purposefully avoided eye contact with her.

She wasn't going to let him get away that easily.

"Hey, Chief!" She called out. "What does it feel like? I've always wondered what its like to have oil in my underwear!"

"Shut up, Specialist," he frigidly retorted.

Cally was definitely glad she only had staples in her pants.

If there ever was a better place to hide than in her jumpsuit, it was under the covers of her rack. Cally lay on her back and gazed at the springs of the mattress above her. "Don't close your eyes," she told herself. Dreamland was not a happy place. Cally preferred to stay awake and mull over the days events. It really was hilarious, the Chief sadly waddling away with oil in his pants. That couldn't have been a pleasant experience. A tiny smile sneaked its way onto her lips. She tried to suppress it, but soon found herself laughing with the full force of her lungs. Good thing she was the only one in the room. Would've thought she went crazy. Jammer may have even called her a Cylon...

Cally abruptly stopped. A familiar pain swept through her stomach. She shouldn't be laughing.

Guilty.

The sting of remorse high in her chest, Cally rolled onto her side and wrapped her arms around herself. Loosing the battle against sleep, she slowly drifted off, dreaming of gunshots, the smell of oil, and _him_.

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys. Look forward to writing more! 


	3. Under The Wing

**Pressed Palms **by Rosie

Summary: Cally feels guilty. She hurt the last person she ever wanted to. But now things are starting to change between them, and the one thing she's always wanted is what scares her the most. A Cally/Tyrol fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Battlestar Galactica (duh), and these characters are not mine. But I do own these words. Please don't copy in whole or in part w/o my permission.

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Under The Wing

"Cally get that panel off now!"

"But Chief, shouldn't we wait for the engine to cool a little?"

"We have to get to the relays before they fuse. Get some gloves on and open it up."

"Sure thing, Chief."

A fried engine. Cally's least favorite problem. How the hell did Kat manage to burn it up so hard? She pulled on some thermal protection gloves and ducked under the wing of the smoking Viper. She unscrewed and popped off the panel on the underside. A wave of heat and a thick puff of smoke greeted her, blackening her face.

Cally coughed and sputtered as the abrasive fumes entered her lungs. Frak. Should've worn a mask. Waving the smoke out of her face, she reached into the engine to fish out the few delicate parts that were so prone to melting. Her eyes watered and stung from the smoke and she had to close them and look away, navigating only by feel. The smoldering belly of the Viper started to burn at her sleeve.

Reaching her destination, Cally realized she was too late. What should have been two smooth metal rods were now rough and twisted. Perfect. She hoped to the Gods they had some replacements.

As she pulled her arm out in defeat, Cally heard something distinctly snap. A few crumbled parts of hot metal scattered out onto the floor.

She felt something sharply burn at her chest. There were tiny, hot, shattered fragments of metal all over the floor, and one in her jumpsuit.

"Frak!"

Cally cried out in a scream of shock. The red-hot fragment singed through her clothes pressed up against the skin of her torso. She ripped open the front of her jumpsuit and frantically fished for the intruder. She pulled off the top of her suit and shook it and rubbed her hands over her stomach. A small, black piece of metal fell out of her shirt and onto the floor.

"Cally!"

The Chief and a few others rushed over to her aid.

"Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so," she said, examining her stomach.

"All right," said the Chief as he turned to face the others. "You guys get back to work."

The crewmen returned to their duties as the Chief kneeled down beside her under the wing.

"What happened?" he asked with a genuine tone of concern.

"Something fell into my suit. Just burned a little."

Cally's tank was bunched up around her chest. The Chiefs eyes migrated downwards to the bare skin of her stomach. He noticed a discolored patch of skin on her left side. Lumpy and disfigured. The trademark scar of a bullet wound. He knew she had been shot, but frak, he hadn't expected to see that.

Cally felt his eyes on her and quickly pulled down the tight fabric of her tank. Exposed. That was the last thing she wanted the Chief to see. Evidence of her near-rape. Oh Gods, rape. An unwelcome chill ran its way up her spine.

She shifted her eyes to the floor and twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt.

"Souvenir from the Astral Queen," she said, her tongue dripping with anger and embarrassment.

"Shit, Cally."

The Chief couldn't seem to find any other words. He rarely saw the Specialist out of her orange jumpsuit, let alone the gruesome scar on her naked stomach.

Cally broke his silence.

"Yeah... Well this engine's burnt to hell. Should let it cool off before we go back in and figure out what to replace."

She stood up and zipped the front of her suit. Cally rolled her eyes as an obviously furious Kat dashed towards her from across the deck.

"What the frak did you do to my Viper!"

Kats voice rose progressively higher.

Cally had to restrain herself from saying something she'd regret. Kat wasn't the type of person she wanted to aggravate.

"Nothing. Engines fried. Melted, burnt to a crisp."

"Well aren't you going fix it?"

Kat shoved her hands on her hips and glared at Cally in expectation. Ugh. Typical asshole pilot.

"Cant. Its still too hot."

"Then get some coolant in there!" She yelled in an almost shrill voice.

Cally wasn't sure, but she thought she heard Kat mutter "_Frakking tech_" under her breath.

"Look, I don't know what the frak you did to this engine, but I think its safe to say its gonna be out of commission for a while. Okay? You think you can handle that?"

Kat breathed heavily through her nose and shifted her weight back and forth. With a final "Frak you," she departed, kicking over a crate of spare parts as she went.

The Chief got out from underneath the Viper and stood behind Cally, placing a warm hand on her shoulder.

"You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, Chief. I'm fine."

"Good, 'cuz I need you here. You're the best I've got."

She'd heard him say it before, but that didn't make her feel any less pleased.

"Can't have you off and getting injured again, got that?"

He then went on to call her "Specialist Lazy", just for good measure. Cally laughed.

"I've been shot, burned……what's next? A near-drowning in the shower?"

"Now that's not even funny."

She wasn't quite sure whether he was being serious or not. The Chief grasped a hold of her eyes with his. What was there? Was it fear?

Cally pulled her hands inside her sleeves and looked away.

"I better get back to work," she said timidly.

Cally had lied. She was hurt. No way she was going back to sickbay though. She'd just run the burn under some cold water later. Gods it stung. Cally had been absolutely mortified that the Chief had seen her scar. Ugly thing. But at least she still had both ears. Oh...that was not something she wanted to remember, the taste of a man's ear. Now she would have to brush her teeth extra hard too. And the way the Chief had looked at her, scanning her, reaching. Couldn't hide from eyes like that.

He might see her guilt.

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A/N: Keep those reviews coming! And special thanks to Jest'lyn Tal for pointing out an error. I will fix it as soon as possible ) 


	4. Right Hand

**Pressed Palms **by Rosie

Summary: Cally feels guilty. She hurt the last person she ever wanted to. But now things are starting to change between them, and the one thing she's always wanted is what scares her the most. A Cally/Tyrol fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Battlestar Galactica (duh), and these characters are not mine. But I do own these words. Please don't copy in whole or in part w/o my permission.

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Right Hand

She hadn't always been the best. The Chief had reserved that status in his mind for Prosna. Not to undermine her, Cally was good, but so were all his members of Deck Crew 5. Yet with the loss of so many, the Chief found himself depending more and more upon her. His most common utterances soon became "Cally get over here," and "Cally take care of that." She worked with a nimble efficiency that he somewhat lacked. He marveled at her delicate fingers. At first, the Chief was mildly concerned as to whether or not such ladylike hands could handle the roughness of a Raptor engine. But witnessing her confident movements and precise execution soon led him to trust those dainty fingers as much as his own.

His right hand.

Cally didn't know it, but he watched her. When not too focused on his work at hand, the Chief would let his eyes drift over to her. She rather reminded him of a honey bee, buzzing about and tinkering with spare parts, gathering stray nuts and bolts as she went. It was much the same way he had watched Sharon, only with less obsession and more fascination. He even came to envy those little fingers of hers. Cally was always able to wriggle her arms far into the belly of a Viper, places he could not reach without removing three or four parts first, unless he had her to help him.

Watching Cally, the Chief felt something deep inside his chest swell with pride. She worked hard for him and he trusted her with anything, even his life. That trust had been violently shaken when Sharon was revealed as a Cylon. The Chief couldn't bring himself to trust anyone anymore. People lie. And then Cally killed her, stretching the rift between them even further. But the memory of Kobol still resounded in his mind. How afraid she had been when given that suicidal order by Crashdown. How brave she had been when providing covering fire over his back.

With the coming of the other Sharon, _Helo's_ Sharon, that swell of pride had been temporarily replaced with a sting of jealousy and an ache of longing. She remembered him, _them_, but none of it was real. She wasn't real. They weren't real. It had all been a lie, right? The Commander, now the Admiral, had asked him if he was prepared to see her again.

He wasn't. Not after loving her so deeply and feeling the life escape her body. She bled. He felt it. He supposed that his Sharon had simply woken up somewhere in a nice, new, comfortable body free of the bullet in her stomach and the wound on her cheek. Why would a Cylon try and kill itself? None of it made sense. His thoughts were thick and smothering.

Did she love him? It didn't really matter. She was fake, a liar, a murderer. But seeing the new Sharon with Helo and love they shared made him second-guess his resolution. The Chief had been frakked with on the deepest level. Love, Cylon, suicide, murder, Sharon...Fake.

The wrong hand.

Cally was real though, at least as far as he knew. Watching her seemed to temporarily settle the cold fire in his heart and cleansed his mind with a little more clarity. After he had come so close to smashing Helo with a wrench, the Chief came to understand Cally a little better. He could empathize with the rage that so wildly consumed the soul. He could no longer hold onto blaming her for shooting Sharon. Hell, if he hadn't been so in love with her, he probably would have done it himself.

When building the Blackbird, he had held a wrench to her and told her that was what he understood. It was simple, mathematical, an escape. Not long after his incident with Helo, he began to view Cally the same way. Rather ironic, really. Of course, Cally could still easily aggravate him with a few cutting words. Not that he didnt deserve it, but as long as she wasnt speaking, the Chief was free to think of her the way he wanted. Clean and logical and clever. Dedicated and hardworking and loyal to her Chief. In his mind, she was the perfect crewman.

The right hand.

_His_ right hand.

She had even lightly defended the other Sharon when those crude Pegasus pilots laughingly discussed the raping of their Cylon prisoner. And thank the Gods they did, or else Sharon might have met the same fate. It didn't matter if she was a Cylon or not, no one deserved such a torture. The though that Cally had come so close to suffering that horrible deed made the Chief sick to his stomach. It was hard to admit, but he was glad that Cally had a received a bullet hole in her stomach instead of the lifelong agony of surviving a rape. Nonetheless, seeing her scar had still delivered a breath-stealing blow to his chest. With a doubled rage boiling in his heart, the Chief had murdered Sharon's would be attacker. He didn't mean to, but that was after the fact.

Now he was a murderer too, and this even further lessened the blame on Cally. He considered themselves equal, both victims of their own rage, both murderers in crimes of passion. They were one and the same. Though she still had the unfair advantage of those small hands. "Its nice to be small," he told her. The Chief wished there was some way to express his forgiveness, his understanding. He wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault. He wanted to say he knew her. And as he watched her silently working away on Kat's fried Viper, he wondered if she felt the same.

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A/N: Just thought I'd get into the Chief's head a little before delving into some real action. Love it? Hate it? Review it! Seriously, give me a review and I'll be your best friend forever. Feedback is like crack. 


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